


The Other Suns

by rapunzariccia



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Additional characters to be added with later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzariccia/pseuds/rapunzariccia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Planet F-R 1: Lothering colony, population 467. Responsibilities: Terraforming, extraterrestrial farming. Risk of spawn infection: Low</p><p>A smuggler, an unfortunate casualty with a countdown over their head and a surly tagalong try to pick out a better fortune for themselves. Friends both new and old await them, but as for a happy ending... well, one can dream, right?</p><p>(It's Dragon Age... in SPACE!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Unknown spacecraft, identify yourself or change course immediately.”

One hand slams down on the button to open frequencies. “This is the _Nefarious_ , approaching with intent to dock. Three of us aboard. No weapons. We've less than a week's worth of fuel left, not enough to get us to anywhere that we know of. Uh – repeat, requesting permission to dock.”

Request sent, the hand retracts and starts drumming out an irregular beat on the small dashboard. “Carver, talk to me. How are we looking back there?”

"Under control,” comes the reply, sounding strangled enough to sound anything  _but_ . “Just get us in, sis.”

There's nothing but quiet static hissing through the channel at her, no acknowledgement whatsoever to her request, and Marian Hawke can only wait anxiously. This is their one chance, their one gift from the Maker in the form of a giant carrier with enough space to let them board. Who knows how long it might take to find another? They're not following any flight plan, and Athenril's stolen craft has only enough tech wired into it to let them know where  _they_ are, which is useless enough in the vast nothingness of space.

It's been seconds, probably, but they've stretched on long enough that the worry has her stomach scrunched up  _tight_ . Three weeks going nowhere has made time inconsequential, every moment taking a lifetime and happening in the blink of an eye. “Fuck,” she mutters to herself. “Alright. Alright,” she adds to psych herself up, and then, a little louder, “It's alright, Bethy, we're good,” when a high, reedy moan floats up the ladder and reaches her ears. Nothing is as hard as staying put when Bethany's in such a state, but Carver won't let anyone else  _near_ when she gets like this, and anyway, what can she do but stand about and be useless?

_Get us out of here is what you can do, Marian_ , she thinks, and her teeth stop digging into her lip with the sucking noise that Mother always hated.  _No point staying put for this hunk of metal if they don't want us_ . She's reaching forward, fingers getting ready to punch in commands – dip low enough to skirt the carrier, maybe change direction by a few degrees just to change things up – when the comm buzzes to life. Her stomach drops a couple notches.

“Approach, _Nefarious_. Starboard port two is open for you.”

“Yes!”

She's whooping without thinking about it, stomach flying back to its regular place and turning somersaults in victory. The cockpit's ceiling is too low to allow her to punch the air in victory, but she's grinning with every tooth on show as she directs her hands away from their intended destination to smack the comm button again.

“Affirmative. Thanks a bunch,” and the abused button gets a rest as she slumps back in the pilot's seat. “Hear that, Carv? Bethy? We're _in_!” she laughs, a maniac sound in the confines of the craft. “Actual _beds_ to sleep in tonight. _Proper food_ , no more dry-freeze shit.” She waits a moment to hear back, frowns when she gets no answer. “Guys? Talk to me.”

A grunt, and the sound of someone too tall for the cockpit unfolding himself as best he can. “Do you ever think of anything that isn't food?” Carver asks, and then swears as the familiar  _thunk_ of his head hitting the ceiling reaches Marian's ears. For all his lack of grace, he moves quickly, braces his hands on the back of her chair and ducks his head beside hers to better peer out at their saviour. “Holy Maker, sis, what have you found? It's  _huge_ .”

It is. The carrier they're approaching is far bigger than their tiny craft, a sun to their little planet. It's the kind of spacecraft they've heard about their entire lives, seen on a grainy screen maybe once or twice – colonial carriers going from planet to planet and pushing the boundaries of space travel ever further. Enough space to hold twenty of the crafts the Hawkes are in, and near enough a whole city's worth of people, all specialists in their own right.

“Ask,” Marian says, voice thick with satisfaction, “And ye shall receive. How's Beth?”

Her brother's expression darkens. “Out for the count. It came on quickly this time, so she was just surprised, I think. She's fine otherwise. Caught her nails on my arm pretty good, but I've had worse. What are we going to say to them? You think they're just going to accept her-”

“They _will_ ,” she all but growls. “She isn't bad. Not like that, not often. So we tell them she's sick. Too much crappy food and a delicate stomach. She takes whatever medicine they give her, we keep her isolated when it gets bad. No one needs to know anything more.”

She doesn't need to turn her head to know that Carver's giving her the Look. It's only ever brought out when she's really pushing her luck.

“I know,” she says. “But what else can we say? We tell them the spawn has her, they'll space us without thinking.”

There's no answer to that. They've been idling for long enough, and Marian has her fingers fly across the controls to kick them into gear again, bringing them closer to the carrier. Carver stays crouched next to her as she manoeuvres them to the second hangar, as still as if he was just another fixture of the craft. For all the work he's done on it, he might as well be. Most panels of Athenril's stolen craft have been replaced by him once or twice, and he had to rewire most everything when she learned how handy he really was. A pain in the ass, he'd called it at the time, but incredibly helpful when putting a sudden escape plan into action. He knew the craft better than Marian by far.

They're close enough to the carrier that they can't see the blackness of space anymore – just the hull, grey and inoffensive – when the hangar doors open. Air escapes into the vacuum of space like steam from a boiling pot.

“Everything packed?” Marian asks, fingers never leaving their panels.

“Of course.”

“Everything? You mean it? Food, clothes, essentials-”

“Maker, Marian, do you want me to take the seat cushions with us as well? We're all set to make a new start, quit worrying. I'm going to go sit with Beth til we dock.”

“You mean you're going to stretch out your giraffe legs somewhere you won't smack your head,” she retorts, but her heart isn't in it. Carver slaps her back and then disappears from her peripheral vision, back down the ladder to their tiny quarters again. She doesn't know how he can stand it there. It's where her siblings spend almost all of their time, pacing or lying down or playing cards or whatever else they do. Marian tries to give them their space, stays in the cockpit as much as she can bear. She's slept in the pilot's chair as often as not over the last few weeks. It's bad enough they're all stuck together with barely any breathing room, let alone stepping on each other's toes every time they try to stretch out.

Spending so much time up here has had her become intimately familiar with everything the craft can do, however – or at least, everything she knows how to make it do. Athenril didn't teach her what all the buttons did, nor did she see reason in labelling anything. Marian knows how to start and kill the engine, how to make it go any direction she wants, and how to check the fuel and air. Carver had filled in a couple of blanks for her in the first few days – this button puts down the landing gear, that puts everything on standby – but everything else was unnecessary for her to learn on the few runs she'd made back home. It hasn't stopped her memorising the dashboard's layout.

No expert pilot, Marian's able to finesse the craft into the carrier without bumping either vessel's hull, and the landing is only a little turbulent. She lets herself relax for long enough to watch the big doors close, shutting space away for good. It's a strange sort of peace, not having to look at the stars. She'd lost count of them the first night away, just like they'd all lost count of the miles a few days after they left. Just them, and a whole lot of nothing, and now this.

She's up and moving suddenly, grabbing the few personal effects she's decorated the cockpit with before sliding down the ladder to join her siblings. With the great airlock doors shut, all they have to do is wait for the hangar to fill with air again before they can do anything. Bethany is mercifully peaceful in her rest, lying on the makeshift bed the twins put together, with Carver sitting at her feet, still and silent. She sinks next to him, reaches for his hand. He takes it without a word.

Silence has become a torture in its own right. There's only so much one can confide in their siblings, especially those who are already so close and so affected by so many things. But this? This is something else, something worse. It is an oppressive silence, one that mocks them.  _You cannot speak your fears aloud because the words would be worse_ . At best, they'll be under questioning for a while. At worst, they'll never see each other again.

The seconds are dragging on again, yet another agony they are forced to endure. Marian looks at her and Carver's joined hands and thinks that her fingers are going to be permanently claw-shaped from how tightly she's holding on, when

_beep_

one piercing, annoying noise breaks the silence. The craft doesn't make much noise, as battered as it has been. Pressure inside and outside is the same. It's safe to get out and find out what their fate is.

“Well,” Marian says. She doesn't get to her feet, doesn't let go of her brother's hand. Her knuckles are white. “Shall we?”

“Might as well.” Carver's grip is as strong as hers. Neither one moves except to glance over at Bethany. “Marian-”  
“Can it. If you get all cheesy then I'll get back into that chair and fly us straight out of here again. Punishment. _Pun-_ ishment.”

That wrests an injured-sounding groan from Carver, which means her job is done. Nothing like a bit of elder sister-induced cringe to kickstart an adventure.

“Let's go say hi,” she says, and gets to her feet only a little reluctantly.

 

* * *

 

Introduction to any member of the Hawke family typically sees at least one thing going wrong. The ramp that's supposed to drop when the outer door opens stays where it is, even when Carver thumps the surrounding panels roughly, so they have to jump the few feet to the floor instead of the graceful exit they'd been hoping for. Marian's ankle wobbles when she lands, and Carver pitches himself too far forward to avoid the same thing, nearly falling directly onto his face.

There's a welcoming party waiting for them, but they're given a moment to collect themselves before anyone approaches. Everyone is wearing what looks like a heavy-duty spacesuit and helmet, the same kind that walkers wear. Each has a baton holstered at their waist, but no guns, which means that they're either too trusting or the carrier itself has a security system wired into it.

Marian clears her throat and raises her palms, though she stays where she is. “Uh – thanks for letting us land. Didn't expect this many people, but I assure you, we're no threat.” When that fails to garner any kind of response, she jerks her head back toward the craft. “Look, can we get this over with already? My sister's still aboard. Got a funny tummy, she's sleeping it off at the moment. Didn't want to move her until we were sure we were safe.”

There's an awful, pregnant moment where she thinks even that's not going to get a response, and she's almost tempted to hoist back onto the small craft just to prove a point, but then one breaks the line to approach to almost within arms reach, close enough that Marian can see that the suit is close to pristine. She's seen walker suits before – they're dirty, creased things.  _They can't know about Bethy already_ she thinks as her mind also tells her  _they're going for intimidation by uniform_ . Both thoughts are terrifying enough that she feels her heart stutter.

“Marian Hawke,” the person says. The voice is almost familiar. “What in the _Maker's holy name_ are you doing piloting a stolen smuggler's junk?”

“Uh,” Marian gapes, for lack of a more intelligent response.

“And we worried this might be a threat. Alright, everyone, no need to worry.”

The figure turns their backs to the Hawkes, who take the opportunity to shoot each other confused looks. No one in their right mind should turn their back on an unknown person – especially not if they know the  _Nefarious_ was stolen.

_What does this mean?_ Marian mouths at her brother, but their greeter is taking their helmet off and turning back to them, a shock of red hair the only indication as to who it might be before they show their face, and when they do-

Carver starts laughing. Marian sags in relief.

“Three weeks,” she says, full of wonder, “And we find _friends_. Aveline, you _beautiful angel_ , come here.”

Aveline allows herself to be pulled into a tight embrace that she returns just as fiercely. She nods at Carver over her shoulder, who returns the gesture, and thumps Marian twice on the back before they release each other. The rest of the welcome party have drifted away from each other, not bothered in holding up a threatening presence now it's obvious there's no danger, and the hangar has filled with the quiet buzz of people chatting.

“Something tells me you'll be willing to explain why you're here after a rest,” Aveline says to the pair. “Let's get you cleaned up and put to bed. Bethany's still aboard? Wright, Brennan, get over here and pull your weight.”

 

* * *

 

The room they're given is small, but not so cramped that they can't stretch out and enjoy the space. It's almost empty, likely used as a spare room for late-working engineers who can't make it up to a proper cabin. There's two beds on a metal frame and an extra mattress dragged in from another room, extravagances they'd forgotten about after weeks adrift, and a bathroom suite that's separated from the rest of the room by a door that actually closes. Carver falls asleep with enviable speed, and Marian isn't long to follow. When she wakes, there's no cramp in her legs or neck, something she's unused to after sleeping bunched up in chairs on and off. Better yet, Bethany is on her back on one of the beds, still peaceful.  _No one knows. Thank the Maker_ .

She'd taken the mattress, left the beds for her long-suffering siblings, who are resting close enough that Carver is able to reach his arm over and hold onto Bethany's wrist, a gesture that has Marian smile before pushing herself up. She's still tired, but not so much that she'll fall back asleep straight away, so she gets herself to the bathroom and takes a moment to clean some of the grit of sleep from her eyes. There's a choice of cold or hot water, an utterly bizarre thing to her now. She chooses the cold, splashes her face twice and wets her hair with it, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror above the basin. This is the first time she's set eyes upon herself in almost a month. She looks a mess, dark circles under her eyes and skin the special kind of grimy that space travel seems to make of a person.

The next curiosity is the rest of the room. There's nothing in the way of personal items, just the beds, a chair, a desk and a softlight lamp for late night reading that's still on. It could be anyone's – and surely for a carrier of this size, every room should be filled? The door isn't locked either, which she had fully expected. No guards waiting to seize her, no people wandering the corridor, nothing of note except numbered doors identical to theirs.  _How strange_ .

“Awake, Marian?”

She jumps. Of  _course_ there's an intercom. Hard to imagine travelling without one in a vessel this big. It sits just on the inside of the door, like most comms Marian has ever seen, built in exactly the same way – one button to connect to the other end, mic just above a speaker the size of her palm. She keeps her voice low.

“Watching us sleep? There are easier ways to get my attention.”

She can almost hear Aveline rolling her eyes. “And there are harder ways to get ours than rocking up in a stolen craft. The twins are still asleep?”

“Yeah.” Marian glances over to double check. “Yeah. I'm glad they are. Was I out long?”  
“A couple hours. Fancy going back to bed, or are you awake enough to chat?”

She yawns, pushes the hair back from her face. “I'm good to talk. You want me to come find you? I'd love to hang out here, but the kids'll wake, and you haven't seen fury 'til you've seen Carver wake up.”

From across the room, the boy in question snorts, as if to illustrate that he can hear her even while sleeping. Aveline laughs, a tinny sound over the comm.

“No fear, I'll come and get you. There's a mess hall a little way from your room, empty this time of night. Write the twins a note – there should be paper in the desk – and wait outside your door. Be with you in five.”

The intercom doesn't click or buzz to signify that Aveline's taken her finger off the connecting button. _Real high class tech, this_ , Marian thinks, used to static interspersing communications between her smuggling associates. Doing as bid, she scribbles a message to her siblings just in case they should wake and find her missing before leaving them to sleep.

Aveline's changed into something much more casual – an oversized shirt and pants, yellow and brown. She's pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail as well. The effect is startling; she looks much more homely and familiar dressed the way she did back on the colony than in untouched walking gear.

“I'm glad to see you,” Marian says as they hug greetings and start their walk to the mess. “So glad. Maker, Aveline, you have no idea how glad.”

“I don't know,” her companion laughs. “I've an idea. Might want to repeat yourself a couple times before I'm _really_ sure.”

“Oh, shove it.”

There's no real venom to the insult, and the rest of the journey is spent in comfortable silence. The corridors Marian's led down are uniform – grey, long, with just enough space for three to walk abreast. The mess hall is less military-looking and more cosy, with seats and benches strewn about, tables for every one, and a few self-serve counters. As promised, it's abandoned, the lights dimmed so much that she has difficulty seeing if the corners of the room have anything interesting in them.

“Coffee?”  
“Please.”  
“Still take it strong?”  
“You bet.”

Choosing a bench close to the counter Aveline starts working at, Marian sinks into it and sags so her head is tilted way back, eyes trained on the ceiling. There's no indication that there's anyone but them aboard the carrier; it's completely silent. No voices, no tech, not even the gentle thrum of the ship's engine that Marian's gotten so used to falling asleep to on her own tiny craft. She wonders what time it is for the people that live here.

“What are you doing up?” she asks as Aveline finishes muddling through making synthetic coffee. It's received gratefully and slurped loudly. She doesn't even mind that it's hot enough to burn her tongue. Anything's better than the shit the _Nefarious_ was able to pump out – and that ran out a while back. “It's got to be late. Or early.”

“Nearly four the last time I checked. Someone had to wait up for you,” Aveline sits, much more gracefully than Marian, cups her hands around her own cup like she could absorb the caffeine that way. “If you weren't up in an hour I was going to crash myself. So.”

_Here it comes._ Marian slurps her coffee again, hoping the noise will put Aveline off question time, though she knows it's a wasted effort. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” she asks, feigning innocence.

“Don't play coy, Hawke. Start from the beginning. Why are you out here? What made you leave Lothering? And don't tell me something like you got bored of the quiet life,” she adds quickly, before Marian can even draw breath. “You didn't exactly sit back and let the world happen around you back when I was still with you. Did something happen to the colony? There's just you three-”

“Nothing happened,” Marian interjects. She rubs her eyes. “It's... a long story.”

“We're not going to be interrupted. Talk.”

One more sip of coffee for good luck, and then she's sucking in a deep breath and starting to talk. Her mouth already feels dry, like she's been telling this story for the weeks they've been travelling. “Right, okay. There's a few things that tie into everything. Lots of bad luck, for starters. What do you know about the craft we came in on?”  
“A smuggling ship. We're not bounty hunters or galactic police, there's only so much we have on record.”  
“So much is enough. Not my craft, big surprise. It belonged to a former – okay, so I got in with smugglers back on Lothering. Nice place, but everywhere's got their share of shitheels. Nothing big, stop looking at me like that – stuff like organic food, bits of tech here and there. And I wasn't doing it just for myself! Gamlen – you remember him? - threw a good chunk of his money away at the casino. When that wasn't enough, he asked mother for a loan.”

“He got you to pay off his debt?”

Marian pulls a face, runs her hand through her hair. “Not just me. Bethy and Carver had to get involved as well. I'm not talking a couple tens here and there, Aveline, I'm talking a  _lot_ of debt. Carver's good at fixing things, and Bethy got good at walking for a while. There was a program, she got involved, she did more than was necessary and got extra cash for it before the company went under. No more walking for Bethy. So we weren't making enough money, and -”

“If you tell me you left to escape your uncle's debts without Leandra or Malcom,” Aveline starts. She gulps a good half of her coffee down in one and sets it down on the table in front of them with more force than strictly necessary. “That's not you.”

“That's not me,” Marian agrees. “Relax. That's not what happened. Dad...” and she grows quiet, because even remembering is hard. Knowing that Bethany suffers the same way is even worse, and it's not like she could avert her eyes over the last few weeks. They were alone out in space, but she's grown even more protective of her baby sister. “Couple of months after you left, dad went to help bring in supplies. They needed extra hands. When he came back, the spawn had him.”

Somewhere close to her and very far away at the same time, her friend makes a noise that sounds very much like  _Maker_ .

“We put him into quarantine, kept him happy and healthy as best we could, and one day we went to see him and he'd hung himself.”

There's a thick lump in her throat that's making her voice gruff. Marian tries to gulp it down with another mouthful of coffee, but she can't. The lump's too big and the memories too strong now she's dug them up, and she very nearly chokes. Her throat closes around the liquid and she spits it back into her cup, and then she's crying ugly, loud sobs that echo around the empty cafeteria. Aveline's on her feet in an instant, moving from the seat opposite to beside her on the bench, throws her arms around her friend and pulls her close. Marian sobs until her face hurts with the effort of it. When she's shushed, when her hair is brushed away from her face, she's given up on crying and sounds more like she's choking on her tongue. It's cathartic, in a way. She hasn't let herself think about it since it happened. Leandra had decided to clock out and leave her family to fend for themselves, Bethany and Carver had probably talked about it the way they talked about everything, and the rest of the galaxy had kept on going. Marian had taken control, forced herself to mature, buried the memories deep down and kept them there like she was trying to drown them.

Her coffee is cold by the time she's pulled herself together. “Sorry,” she says hoarsely. Aveline swats her knee.

“Don't you dare. I'm so sorry, Marian – I had no idea-”

“Course not. You were gone, and we weren't sure whether you'd be in range of a quick message, so we didn't bother sending any out. Didn't have the tools or the money for a long one. So, that happened,” she shoots for casual, falls very far from the mark, “Mother stayed sad, Gamlen stayed a shit, and we worked our asses off until I couldn't take it anymore. Not like doing Athenril's dirty work was getting me any fans. I meant to go alone-” not exactly the truth, but close enough that she can keep the lie up, “But the brats followed me. Bethy's idea, of course, she's the brains to Carver's brawn. They bullied me into taking them along. _You_ try saying no when they've got their minds set on something. We took the craft, left mother a note, and boom.” She spreads her hands, like it's nothing. “Three weeks later, you pick us up. I think the big guy likes us.”

Aveline snorts. She looks nothing at all like the collected woman that greeted them upon stepping off the _Nefarious_ now: her hair has taken on the mussed quality that early-morning hours always brings, and her shirt has a large wet patch where Marian's face had been pressed. There isn't a face in the universe that could be more comforting right now. She squeezes her friend's shoulder.

“Alright, Marian. Question time's over, that's more than enough for tonight. I'm glad you're safe, and the twins, even if circumstances... well. I'll talk to Meredith in the morning, put in a good word for you. You won't have to leave so long as no one mentions the criminal activity. Up you get, girl, let's get you back to your room.”

Marian lets herself be cajoled to her feet and supported as they exit the mess and retrace their steps back through uniform corridors. Aveline keeps talking. “We'll let all three of you find your footing before anyone has to do anything,” she says in such a genuine tone that Marian actually _believes_ it'll be that simple, even though it never has been. “We'll get you cleaned up, let the medics have a look – I'm sure Meredith will want a chat as well, but that's something to think about later. Here we are,” as they stop in front of door 708, “Will you be able to sleep, or do you need anything to help it along? You need rest.”

The concern feels like hot chocolate slipping into her stomach, sweet and comforting. The handle to the room gives easily, untouched since they'd left it earlier. “I should be good to go – to sleep, I mean,” Marian says, and yawns to prove her point. “You get some rest as well, miss up-til-dawn. You'll be around tomorrow, too? A friendly face to help out?”  
“As if I'd leave you three in need,” Aveline smiles, and squeezes Marian into a tight hug that steals her breath. She's been a strong woman for as long as Marian's known her, but the force means something different in the quiet of space. She gave a similar strong-armed embrace when she left the colony, where there had been people and wind and insects. Now there could be nothing but them in the galaxy.   
  
“Sleep well, Marian,” she says before releasing her. “And welcome to the _Kirkwall_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Marian wakes with a start, a crick in her neck and her mouth lolling wide open. Sometime during the night, she's rolled off the mattress, so unused to the unlimited space they've been gifted. All of her save a single ankle is sprawled on the floor. One arm has been thrown above her head and her tongue has been dried to the roof of her mouth. Maker only knows how long she's been sleeping in this position, although the overtired headache and aches in her limbs indicate far too long.

“Mfphng,” she snorts, and upon attempting to crack an eye open, immediately decides to keep them closed until there's no way she can put off getting up any longer. From just above her, someone giggles girlishly.

“You're a mess,” they say. Marian snorts again, makes sure it sounds like she's bringing something thicker up. “Oh, _gross_ ,” is her reward. In her head, she receives a high-five from someone just as gross as her.

There's little use in trying to go back to sleep. Likely, she's been wasting time while her company waits patiently, and if the way her head feels is any indication, more rest won't do her any favours. She cracks her eye again, instantly knows she's made a terrible mistake. Someone's turned the lamp up from _soft_ to a setting that's _harsher than space's eternal vacuum_ and it does absolutely nothing to help the aches and pains. She groans, squeezes her eyes tightly shut, and doesn't miss the way the creaking of bedsprings fills the otherwise quiet room. When the soft padding of footsteps comes back her way, Marian is trying in vain to wet her lips with her dry tongue. A soft _clink_ sounds close by.

“Water,” her sister says, ever the sweetheart. Marian attempts to find the offering with one arm and no sight, fails, and decides that she might as well stop acting the invalid and opens her eyes. This time, the light isn't so hard to bear.

She's acutely aware of being watched as she drains the glass without stopping for breath. It's not cold, but it's not warm either, and every swallow tastes incredible.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Bethany trills as she sets the glass down again. Without looking over, Marian grabs her barely-touched pillow and throws it in the direction of her voice.

“What have I told you about watching me sleep?”  
“ _Always_ do it because it annoys you, unless there's a beautiful man in the same room, in which case stare at _him_ instead.”

“Pervert.” Bethany laughs, a sound made so rare by three weeks of cramped space that she can't help but smile as well. The skin around her mouth feels taut and tired. “Been up long?”  
“Long enough to be nearly bored.”

When she pushes herself up off the floor, she discovers even more aches in the backs of her thighs. She massages the stiffness in her neck with one hand while rubbing the grit from her eyes with the other, and yawns impressively. A perfect contrast, Bethany sits cross-legged on the bed, covers unmade beneath her. Her hair is damp but under control, and she's wearing unfamiliar clothes: a shirt too big for her and creased pants, all grey.

“I found them in the bathroom,” she explains, picking at one leg. “More Carver's size than mine, but I wasn't putting that dress back on. _Or_ my underpants. Do you think there's an incinerator on this ship? I don't want to see them ever again, even if they go through five deep washes.”

“How dare you call me gross,” Marian says. She gives up attempting to rub her aches away and crawls onto the bed, springs groaning beneath her weight as she wraps herself around her sister, “When you tell me things I desperately don't want to know about your soiled clothing.”

She's treated to a tongue stuck out at her. “I, too, can speak the language of the filthy. Be glad you didn't hear Carver complain earlier.”

“Where is he?”

There's no sound of running water and the chair at the desk is empty. There's no indication that anyone but the two of them are in the room.

“Oh, Maker knows. He went to investigate – I think that means to find food, but you know him, he'll end up finding out how the engine works and taking bits off it before he brings us anything back.”  
“He clued you in, then?” Marian brushes a few strands of hair from Bethany's face, combs her fingers through the rest of it to keep it from tangling. Her sister accepts the grooming without comment.

“I had a sickly stomach yesterday,” she says quietly. Marian feels a very familiar guilt settle in her stomach. “I'm feeling better today, but I'll take any medicine they give me, just in case it helps. Marian-”  
“Shh,” she says, and presses her lips against Bethany's wrist, the closest bit of skin she can reach without sitting up. She knows there are tears waiting to spill over, knows they'll do so if her sister keeps talking.

“You know who's here?” Marian asks, determined not to let Bethany concentrate on the negative. “Aveline. Fancy that, Beth, running into her after all this time. Small galaxy, huh?”

“Tiny,” her sister agrees, “But still pretty big. You gonna shower? Not that I don't appreciate the attention, but you smell.”  
“Rude.”

Marian pinches Bethany's arm – gently enough that it won't hurt, but still firm enough to get the message across. She loves her sister dearly, but love isn't enough to let every little comment slide. Even if that wasn't the case, their brother would make a strong case of favouritism. They let him get away with _nothing_.

Having said that, a shower sounds like heaven. _With hot water,_ she remembers gleefully, and positively bounces into the ensuite. She keeps the door cracked, the better to keep talking. Her sister's clothes have been thrown ungracefully into a corner; Marian's follow soon enough.

“How _are_ you feeling today?” she calls as she steps under the stream of water. It's not just warm, but the jet is stronger than even the shower they had back home. _I could get used to living on a ship if this is the life_.

“Better,” is the reply. “I had a headache when I got up, but that's it. I didn't expect to-”  
“You can't help a delicate stomach,” Marian says pointedly. When she doesn't get a response, she moves her head under the stream of water and sluices grime from her hair. “I'm glad you're alright. I worry about you.”  
“I know you do. So does _everyone else_. It's stifling, sometimes.”

There's no response to that except to apologise, and Bethany has heard enough of those to last a lifetime. She knows they worry because they love her, but she's complained more than once before of the same thing. Suffocation is inevitable when there's little other option.

As a girl, Marian had fractured her leg, jumping from too-high boxes. She'd been put into a cast, told not to run around until it had healed, and immediately come under Leandra's wrath for being so foolhardy. Years later, she was still told to _be careful_ before leaving the house. Not comparable to Bethany's situation, not by a long stretch, but similar enough for her to know how annoying constant supervision is. She wishes she could change it – wishes she could change a lot of things.

There's nothing like dwelling to make a day dwindle into nothingness, so she focuses instead on scrubbing dirt from her body. There's a bar of unscented soap in the shower that she rubs eagerly into her hair and over her arms until she looks more suds than skin. Grime cakes under her nails when she rakes them across her shoulders and stomach to get really clean, and she washes it down the drain with a grim sort of satisfaction. When she steps out, rinsed off and shivering, she feels almost like a new person.

When the bathroom door swings open, she's fishing grey clothes identical to Bethany's out of a drawer, naked and dripping despite her best efforts to towel off.  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Carver says, and backs straight out again. Marian rolls her eyes, pulls a shirt on. “Will you hurry up? I need to pee.”  
“Go pee somewhere else,” she calls back. “Didn't you find any bathrooms on your grand tour?”

She grins to herself as he launches into a quiet, angry tirade, and finishes dressing. One last look in the mirror for good measure – she looks better than she did, but still like she hasn't slept enough – and vacates the room with a grand flourish.

“Your throne awaits,” she announces, and earns a shove for her trouble. There's a pause after the door clicks shut, and then, “ _Why did neither of you bother to pick your clothes up_?!”

Back at the bed, the girls high five. Bethany is urged off the duvet so Marian can make the bed.

“I bumped into Aveline,” says Carver once they hear the toilet flush. “She'll be coming by soon. Wants to take us to the medic, make sure we're not dead or sick or anything. She's looking forward to saying hi,” he says to Bethany when he emerges again. She smiles.

“I missed her.”

“She's a guard or something now,” he continues. “Wasn't really listening to what she was saying, to be honest. There was food in front of me. I'm sure she'll repeat it for you two.”  
“Lazy,” Marian chastises. Her brother shrugs, unconcerned.

When Aveline knocks at their door, Marian and Carver are lying on the floor with clasped hands, doing their best to wrestle the other's arm to the ground while prone. Bethany goes from rolling her eyes to jumping at the opportunity to do something different. When she sees who it is, she launches herself into the older woman's arms.  
“Good to see you too,” Aveline says, squeezing her so hard the air is squished out of her. “I'm glad you're up and about. I was worried. How are the terrible two?”

“You tell me,” Bethany says, letting her in and shutting the door behind them. Her siblings are equally red in the face, straining to be the one to win.

“How old are you two?”

“Nngah,” Marian answers, and her muscles give up. Her hand is shoved to the floor hard, and Carver yells happily. She shoves him, received a shove in return, and then very quickly they've scrambled to their knees, not wanting to be the one to lose round two. Carver finds himself in a headlock and flaps his arms around trying to escape; he thumps his sister's back several times. Aveline and Bethany exchange twin exasperated looks.

“Enough,” Bethany says. “You're going to strangle him.”  
“Yes, mother.” Marian lets go. Carver slumps to the floor, panting.

“Did you sleep well?” Aveline asks, completely unperturbed. She receives two thumbs up from the floor-bound duo. “Bethany? You slept the longest of anyone. Feeling better?”  
“Much.”  
“Good. I'm sorry to hurry you, but I got caught up in work along the way. Shoes on, everyone, I've come to chaperone you.”  
“Are we going to Meredith?” Marian asks. Aveline shakes her head.

“Not yet. She might not be free to speak with you for a couple of days, but you'll get there. I'm taking you to the medic.”

“Who's Meredith?” Bethany asks as they finish lacing up shoes. Aveline waits until they're in the corridor to start explaining, taking a different route than the one she led Marian on previously. It's not as empty as it was during the night, but the people they pass pay the Hawkes no mind, as though they've always belonged on the carrier.

“Head of security, but most people say she's the captain,” is the answer. “Strict, but no one minds too much. She's good at her job, volunteered specifically to come aboard the _Kirkwall_ , and she makes sure we get about in one piece.”  
“Security? This doesn't look like a military cruiser,” Marian says, sidestepping a pair of uniformed men.

“It's not, but the powers that be figured it wouldn't be clever, sending something this big out without some kind of firepower,” Aveline explains. “There's enough operations going on that lots can be done at once without wasting money on multiple smaller cruisers. There's some militia and an imitation guard – that's me, for reference – but there's also researchers and scientists, engineers, walkers... You name it, we've got it.”

“And you're here as a guard, but not with the military?”

There's a long pause before they get an answer, in which they're led into a hall much larger than any building they've ever been in before. Its ceiling is higher than Lothering's meeting hall. It's also _busy_. At least a hundred people are pushing and jostling each other, getting on with their business. The thrum of conversation is so loud that it's almost overwhelming after so long adrift. Ahead of her, Bethany stretches back a hand to tangle with hers, the better that they won't lose track of each other. Carver gets her other hand. As a family, they fight to keep up with Aveline, ears straining so they don't miss her reply.

“I left Lothering on the _Guardsman_ , which dropped us off on F-R 4. I lived in the Ishal colony for a while – it's a crossroads colony, people don't really stay there very long, so they were happy to have me around and help out with administration and whatever else they needed. I built up some experience, and when the _Kirkwall_ stopped off for refuelling they invited me to join the crew. They were running low on authority figures,” she adds, turning to make sure she's still being followed, “Not that they're _necessary_ , and I do more paperwork than looking after people, but a position's a position. The pay's good, the people are decent, and I don't intend to leave unless something else comes up. Move,” she barks at a dawdling man. He jumps and shuffles out of the way, expression shifting from surprised to offended. Marian tries not to laugh as she sidles by him. Aveline has that effect on a lot of people.

There's no more talk until they reach the other end of the hall, nearly separated by the crush of people more than once. They join a queue waiting for a cross-deck elevator – one of fifteen, Aveline informs them – and try their best not to be intimidated by the crowd. Bethany keeps talking, unwilling to let herself focus on her surroundings and risk panicking. Marian squeezes her hand gently.

“Sounds pretty weird, lumping everyone together.”

“I thought so too when I first joined, but you get used to it pretty quickly. Departments tend to work together. Science has their fingers in all sorts of pies. Research talks to everyone they lay eyes on. Walkers and engineers work together so the ship is always in good working order. Everyone's on good terms with the guards, and even if they don't believe in the Maker, there's Chantry laypersons that help keep the peace.”

“You have _priests_ on board?” Carver asks, incredulous. “On a spaceship? _Really_?”

“Don't let Elthina catch you saying that,” Aveline laughs. “You wouldn't be the first person to get an earful. The believers have nothing to fear wandering the Maker's garden, or somesuch. It's not my place to comment on it.”

“It is Carver's, though,” Marian adds cheerfully.

There's no talk as they squish into the elevator, a strange looking family looking out of place amongst the uniforms and non-rumpled clothes of the permanent residents. Aveline's muscled arm reaches around Marian to tap a button, which jerks the machinery into action. It's nothing the Hawkes are used to: for all her bravado, Marian actually gasps when they start descending, and Carver has to grip Bethany's hand even tighter. It feels like an eternity when the door _pings_ and slides open on their floor, and the way the elevator slows before stopping is an even worse feeling. Marian could swear her stomach has settled around her knees and won't ever find its way back home.

Aveline bullies them out onto their floor, shoving indiscriminately until they're all out. The doors slide closed on a metal box of grumbling people. “Infirmary level is deck four,” she explains as she leads them down even more hallways. “People don't usually come here unless they're seriously injured, and that tends not to happen so much.”  
“ _Tends_ not to?” Marian asks. Her friend pretends like she doesn't hear the question and stops in front of a door to her left. She knocks.

“Yes?” a voice calls from within.

“Newcomers. Got a minute?”

Despite the lack of response, Aveline waits patiently. The Hawkes crowd around each other, and sure enough, the door opens shortly. The man within is tall, but Aveline is taller, and he looks wearily up at her like he might have been dozing off.

“Morning, Anders,” she says. That seems to ruffle his feathers a little.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I've been up for hours – Orsino sent me material to look over, and you know how that man writes,” he says, and slaps a hand to his face, rubbing roughly like he's willing life back into himself through his fingertips. He blinks owlishly around his hand, and then notices the company. “Newcomers?”

Aveline half-turns so she's got everyone in her field of vision. “Friends of mine, from Lothering. A very long, convoluted story that I'm sure Marian will spice up for your benefit. Maybe half of it will be true.”  
“Hey,” Marian starts, offended, but her friend is smiling.

“We picked them up early this morning. I wanted to let them rest before you gave them a once over – if you're free, of course. You're the best medic aboard.”

“I'm flattered,” he says, sounding like he's barely listening. He's looking at each of them carefully, likely looking for superficial injuries. Marian can't help but notice that his eyes look very tired. There's the hint of crow's feet besides each, and a crease starting to form very gently between his brows. He's also overdue a shave by a couple of days. “Sure, I can spare the time. Maker knows I'd only be doing more work for Orsino if not. I'm starting to think spacing myself might be a preferable alternative.”  
“You're the one that chose to work with the man,” Aveline says, zero sympathy. The medic rolls his eyes, like he's heard this argument a hundred times before.

“I know. What a generous soul I am. Come in,” he says to the Hawkes, and moves out of the way of the door. “There's only two chairs, but make yourself comfortable. Aveline, I know better than to order you around, but-”  
“Don't you worry about giving me orders,” she says. “I have work to do, too. Buzz me when you're done and I'll come and collect them. Marian, kids – see you later.”

The Hawkes chorus their goodbyes before the door is closed gently. The medic's office is clean, but looks almost lived-in. Bits of paper litter his desk. A white coat is dangling haphazardly from one chair. There are photographs of cats pinned to the cork board above his desk. Bethany sees them, and immediately starts cooing at them.

“You have cats?”

“I wish,” he says. “Meredith would go berserk if we got one on board. No rats,” he explains, mouth twisting in a way that could be either a grin or a grimace, “Because she runs such a tight ship. I'm Anders, by the way – any friend of Aveline's, etcetera.”

“Marian, Carver, Bethany,” the eldest points at each of them in turn.

Anders doesn't take either seat – both are unoccupied; Bethany is still staring at the photos and Marian and Carver are more than happy standing – and leans against the wall with his arms folded. “Charmed. So, which of you has it?”

“Has what?” Carver asks.  
“The spawn.”

The effect his words are instantaneous. While Carver puffs himself up, Bethany shrinks into herself. All of a sudden, they look very, very guilty. Marian frowns, hopes the way she stays still belies the way her heart has started to race.

“And what makes you think that?” she asks calmly.

“Because,” Anders says, equally composed. “I have it too, and I don't usually feel it walking around this part of the ship.”

His explanation does nothing to diffuse the tension. He seems to be aware of this, because he sighs, unfolds his arms and holds his hands up, palms out. “Okay, I'm sorry for springing that out first thing. I can be thoughtless, and this is obviously something you're trying very hard to hide. Can we start over?”  
“I don't know,” Carver says. “Can we?”

The two glare at each other. It becomes increasingly likely that Carver is going to thump the man and then drag his sisters away to hide until they have a chance to run away again. Marian rolls her eyes, displays her own palms.

“Children, please. Put the testosterone away now. I'm willing to listen. Carver, breathe before you make a bad decision.”  
“But he-”  
“I know what he said. Can we _please_ get to the bottom of this before you start swinging your fists?”

Her brother shoots her a filthy look, but he takes a step back and folds his arms. Marian fixes the medic with a sharp look. He lifts his hands higher as though she has him at gunpoint. “Start talking.”

“Look, I'm not going to tell anyone. Just as I expect – as I _hope_ ,” he rectifies quickly, “You won't tell anyone about me. So the _Kirkwall_ is a multi-department carrier, with-”

“Lots of different vocations spread out. Aveline gave us the run-down.”  
“Right. Obviously, I'm part of medical, but I'm a relatively new transfer. I've been on a lot of ships, and a few colonies. The last was Amaranthine colony, and-”

“Amaranthine?” Carver interrupts. “Isn't that a military outpost?”

“Something like that,” Anders cedes. “Alright, yes. I used to be military. Amaranthine is where everyone rests up before they get shipped out to other planets, or where they come back to get patched up. I was the one that did the patching up. I also got sent out on occasion, because I signed up like the rest of them. One time we came across animals that had the spawn. We took care of them, because they were violent, and the spawn jumped from them to us.” he grimaces now, like the memories are hard to bear. They probably are. Marian is starting to melt a little, feels like they're being told the truth, but Carver still looks angry. Bethany might as well be a statue. She sidles closer, puts a hand on her shoulder and keeps it there.

“I guess with first-hand experience you already know that the spawn makes you aggressive, so those of us with it weren't allowed on patrols anymore. An officer visited us when we were still in quarantine, had a little chat with us. Taught us that so long as we were able to keep it under control we'd be fine, that we could maybe learn to do something with it. The most we were ever able to do was realise when we were getting close to it – to the spawn, I mean. We could tell when an animal was infected, or a person. No other uses for it, but makes it easier to minimise casualties when you know where to look.”

“No chance of curing it?”

Anders gives her a sympathetic look. “Not that we're aware of. I'm sorry.”

There's nothing more to his explanation. He stays where he is, looks as downcast as Marian feels. Her mind is racing. She doesn't know this man, doesn't know whether she can trust him or not, but he seems honest enough, and-

“Me. It's me.”

Carver's head whips around so fast that it's surprising it doesn't fly straight off his shoulders. Bethany has sunk onto one of the chairs, and her hands are gathered in her lap. She's staring at them. Her voice is so quiet that she might not have spoken at all, but Marian's heard her talk like that before. It's the same voice she used to announce her illness when she came back from walking once.

Anders is, at least, sympathetic. He's adopted a sad half-smile, even though Bethany isn't looking. It reaches his eyes, at least, and that's what convinces Marian that he's a good person.

“How did it happen?” he asks gently. Bethany takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I used to be good at walking. Back home – on our colony – there was a ship that stopped by to refuel, but it wasn't close enough to dock properly. I went with some others to bring supplies up to them. They gave us some extra money for a walk, to see if their panelling was okay. The spawn came back into the airlock with me. No one else got sick, just me.” she attempts a smile, falls incredibly short of the mark. “Bad luck Bethany, that's me.”  
“I'm sorry.”

She tries again, and this time a small smile does appear. “It's okay. It's not your fault.” She finally lifts her eyes, and they're swimming with tears, the way they do when she thinks too hard about it. It's only been about a year since the _Thaig_ pulled up to Lothering, but it's affected her deeply, and she'll never quite be over it.  
“I'm sorry,” Anders repeats. “If there was anything I could, I swear you'd be the first to know. The most we can do at the moment is learn to be calm. We are, however, working on it.” He gestures at the papers on his desk, takes another breath like he's about to continue talking, but Marian interrupts.

“ _We_?”

“Of course. You think I'm the only person that wants a cure?”

He's good, but he can't disguise the shock in his eyes, or stop his eyebrows from shooting up. “Cut the crap,” she says, curt again. “How many others have it?”  
“I don't know what you're talking about.”  
“How many others on this ship have the spawn?”  
“None.”  
“Tell me, or I'll-”  
“I don't take kindly to threats-”  
“ _How many_?” she hisses, and she takes a full three steps closer to him. Her hands have balled into fists. She's smaller than him by just over a head, but he's skinny, and she thinks she could take him. She's quick enough to take him. One sudden thump into his solar plexus will sort him out. Her muscles are all tensed up, ready for action, and the silence stretches out, until he deflates.

“... A handful. I don't know the exact numbers. Part of the infirmary is cordoned off from the rest of the ship, entirely self-sufficient. No one gets injured or ill enough to bother poking around. The only people that know are the higher-ups, the ill, and now you. It's this whole little community, they've done well for themselves. Orsino's good at keeping things contained. I'm able to keep in contact with them because I've convinced Meredith it's not contagious – which is the truth. I stay down here a lot, though,” he adds. “Just to keep her happy. But we have friends all around the ship, and no one needs to know anything they're uncomfortable with. Research gets us documents at every stop, Science loans us equipment if we need it. If there _is_ a cure, we're doing our damndest.”

He brushes dirt that only he can see from his hands before he looks at Bethany, who has him under her own watery stare. “You'd be welcome to join them, if you'd like. No discrimination down here. It would mean confinement, though. If you don't want to, then I'll keep my mouth shut, and it's up to you to keep your secret from being found out.”

“Up to me,” Bethany echoes.  
“Hey,” Marian says, and finally backs away from the medic to crouch in front of her sister. She squeezes her knees tightly. “No one's gonna force you to do anything. You got us up here and we aren't going to let you disappear.”

“Marian's right,” Carver says, sounding much less angry than he looks. “Beth, I love you, but if you dragged us all the way up here to watch the same thing that would happen back home, Maker help me, I will fight you.”

Bethany snorts. The movement makes a tear roll down her cheek, and then all at once she's crying and laughing at the same time, grief and mirth mixed so tightly together that it would be impossible to separate them. That sets Carver off, and then all the Hawkes are laughing, tension draining somewhat. Marian rests her head against Bethany's knees, revels in the warmth and company of her sister.

 

* * *

 

No one has buzzed for Aveline, but she comes by half an hour later regardless. She almost expects no answer when she knocks at the door, but she is invited in immediately. The door opens to a comfortable scene. Anders is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, looking more relaxed than she's ever seen him before. He's laughing easily as Marian talks, hands jabbing the air for punctuation. Bethany's laughing as well, sat on Carver's lap. Her brother is ignoring the story to read through one of the many pamphlets that sits atop the medic's possessions.

“I can come back later,” she says, but Marian waves her in without stopping her story.

“... and then he yelled, _the queasy crow flies at midnight!_ and tripped over his own feet trying to run away. Hey, Aveline! Come to join the party?”

“Come to steal you away for lunch since none of you but Carver had breakfast,” she says. “Although I feel like I'm doing you all a disservice. I don't think anyone's ever seen Anders smile this much.”

“Hey,” he says, sounding hurt. “You try living in this end of the ship and finding much to smile about.”

“Of course. You want to trade sometime?” she asks, but Anders lifts his hands to ward the suggestion off.  
“ _No_ , thank you. I'll stick with reading and dealing with sniffles. Well,” he says, business now, “Your friends are all as healthy as anyone can be after eating low quality synthetic food for three weeks. Bethany's still feeling a little under the weather, though, so I'd like to keep an eye on her.”

Bethany smiles shyly, like she's hiding a secret. “I'm under orders to report in every day until I start to feel better,” she explains, and Aveline shrugs.  
“Whatever the doctor orders. Come on, you three, or we'll be stuck in a crush worse than before. Anders – you're staying, I presume?”

“As ever,” he answers. “Take care, you three. Come see me anytime you need anything.”

 

* * *

 

All three Hawkes are starting to tire of a diet devoid of any organic food, used to growing their own in Lothering, but the _Kirkwall_ 's supplies are much better quality than they've been surviving on. None of them complain, and Carver goes back for seconds while Marian needles Aveline.

“So Anders doesn't come up for food? Like, ever?”  
“ _No_ , Marian, how many times do I need to say it? He gets his food delivered to him. He's a good medic – the best in this stretch of the galaxy, I'd wager – and he lives to work. It's not like Meredith has imprisoned him down there,” she says. Marian pulls a face.

“Shitty reason not to come up for food. _Ow_ ,” she adds, glaring at Bethany. “Alright, sorry, no swearing around the innocent, got it. Fine, so you're bored of talking about the good doctor. Tell me about you. Get up to much without us?”

“Stock inventory,” Aveline sighs. “Like I said: not actually much cause for guards other than keeping the peace when necessary. I help out wherever needs me. That seems to mostly be heavy lifting.”  
“I bet,” Marian says, and flexes her own skinny arms. Aveline smacks her shoulder, and she laughs. It feels good to laugh again. “So what's on the cards for us for the rest of the day? Madam bigwig ready to see us yet?”

“Nothing has changed in the last hour,” Aveline says. “Depends what you want to do. Get your bearings, I suppose, or you can go back to your room. I can't let you wander around willynilly just yet, if only because I know what you're like. Can't have you causing trouble until people are prepared for it.”

“Aveline, you wound me.”

“Test your luck and I will,” is the response, but Marian laughs, no stranger to idle threats.

“Actually,” she says suddenly, serious now. “Do you know what's going to happen to our craft? Not that we're planning on running away again, but I've grown fond of it.”  
“Don't,” Carver says from across the table, shuddering. “I could go the rest of my life without ever thinking about that piece of crap and it'd be too soon.”

“Honestly? I'm not sure,” Aveline says. “Unless there's a request for it to be turned in – which I doubt will reach us now that we're this far from Lothering – it'll either be sold or used as spare parts in Engineering. You'd need to ask them whether they need it.”

“How about it, Carv? Fancy tearing it up?”  
“Please,” he mumbles around another mouthful. “It'd be the _only_ way to put the nightmares to rest.”

All four of them start laughing. Marian feels warm, and full, and happy. The _Kirkwall_ already feels like home – much more so than Lothering had been feeling for a long time. Sharing space with Gamlen was bad enough, but she had been handling so much responsibility. Look after Bethany when she's having a bad day, look after Mother at the same time, keep Carver from getting into trouble, toughen up so no one looks at any of you wrong. Being in the house was one big time sink, and being out of it was just as bad. Everyone was miserable all the time, there was no grand future waiting for her, and she had few people to commiserate with.

Here is good. Here is full of opportunity.

 

* * *

 

They decide to go back to their room after lunch. Aveline drops them off with a promise to pick them up for dinner in a few hours, and then they're left to their own devices. Bethany immediately flops onto her bed and sighs happily; Marian makes a beeline to the desk and starts smoothing last night's letter into crisp folds. One crease, another, flatten, fold, and _voila_ , an only somewhat-wonky paper aeroplane. She attempts to throw it at Carver. It speeds to the floor pathetically.

“I must have taught you to fold them a hundred times,” he says, and stoops to grab it. It doesn't take long before it's flattened on the desk again, and then he's folding over her creases and making them sharper. Marian watches his hands as he works, quick and confident, knowing she'll never pick up the knack.

“So what do you think?” she asks.  
“About what?”  
“About here. Staying here. Reckon we could give it a go?”  
“We haven't exactly got a choice at the moment,” Carver says. He makes a tiny tear in the paper rudder.

“Don't be like that,” Marian rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. We have Aveline here, at least.”  
“What about that Anders?” he asks, and then stops his work to look over at Bethany. “What do you think of him?”

Bethany doesn't answer straight away. She stretches instead, and rolls onto her side to look at her brother. “I don't think he's dangerous,” she starts slowly. “Best to be wary, of course, but I have to be wary of _everyone_. I feel like I can trust him... and I need the help.”  
“You don't need,” Carver starts, at the same time Marian says, “Whatever you feel is best.”

Carver opens his mouth as though he's going to argue, and then shuts it again. He settles for throwing the paper plan; it sails delicately across the room and crashes into the far wall.

“I'm serious,” Marian says, eyes following its trail. “I think we could make a good go of it here. Carv, you could help out in engineering. Bethy...”  
“I could help,” Bethany talks before she can be delegated to the sidelines. “I could start walking again.”  
“No,” says Carver. He's treated to a full-blown glare.

“Why not? It's not like I have anything else to lose.”

“You-”  
“What happened last time can't happen to me again,” she snaps, and stands up. She's the shortest of her siblings, but her fury makes her seem the biggest person right now. Carver actually shrinks back from her. “I was _good_ at walking, and I enjoyed it. I could help, we could earn our keep. I'm sick of being treated like an invalid,” she adds, and she starts pacing angrily. “I get it, something awful is probably going to happen to me, but until it does I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and behaving normally! Can you please, _please_ just trust me for once?”

Carver doesn't answer, settles for looking at his feet. Marian leans back in the chair so that it's balancing on its two back legs.

“If that's what you want to do,” she says. “Far be it from me to tell you what to do. But Beth,” she adds, and sends a pointed look back toward the glare that's directed at her, “Just... be careful, okay? We're all out here because of you, and if anything happened...”

She can't finish that sentence. It doesn't bear thinking about. That seems to get through to Bethany, who looks all of a sudden sober and upset. She nods. “I'll be careful,” she says in a much quieter voice. “I promise. I have to check in with Anders every day, remember? You can come with me, if you want to.” Her look turns sly, and it's obvious she's holding back a grin. “I saw the way you were looking at him. I'm sure you'd jump at a chance to come along.”  
“Ha, ha,” Marian says drily. “Stop projecting.”

“ _Neither of you are going to hit on the medic_ ,” Carver hisses. He's gone from abashed to protective. Marian's grin is so sudden it hurts.

“Someone's jealous!” she yells, and shrieks when he lunges at her. She knows this game. She throws herself out of the chair, hits the floor with a thud and bounces back up. Carver's hot on her heels, and she beats him to the bathroom by a second. The door has a lock, and she uses her entire weight to force the door closed and twist it left. There's a heavy thumping on the door, and several curses slip through the wood. She can hear Bethany's laughter underneath it all, and she sinks to the floor, face buried in her hands as she laughs.

It feels good to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days after they settle in, Bethany has another episode.

Room 708 belongs to the Hawkes now. They've put things together in a way they all enjoy, the better to live together in what passes for harmony out here. Aveline has kindly found them an assortment of old clothes that needed taking in or letting out to fit, but they don't look like invalids anymore, and that's what's important. Marian's gone on a few excursions to the mess hall and has come back with crucial information: when the lunchtime crush starts and ends. What few personal items they have have been arranged on their desk neatly, courtesy of Bethany.

She doesn't find out until it's almost over. Marian's coming back from the mess, having taken to spending a lot of time there. The twins like the room more than she does. It's too cramped for her liking, even though it's a veritable ballroom after the tiny craft they're all used to. In the cafeteria, Marian can watch everyone that comes in and out, chat to whomever she pleases. She's already made friends with a few of the servers that help those who can't or won't get their own food, all the better to snag freebies on occasion.

Her pockets are empty of food today. She's thinking about the elusive Meredith, with whom she still hasn't had the chance to speak with. _Soon,_ Aveline keeps promising, but she won't consider there to be any love lost if the opportunity never rolls around. More than talking with figures of authority, who are only going to have endless troubling questions up their sleeves, she wants to be _doing_ something. Doesn't matter what, at this point, but Aveline says she's not to overexert herself. Marian hasn't discovered other parts of the ship yet, doesn't know any other names or faces asides from family and those in charge of food, so she can't ask for anything to do yet. Even stuffing bread rolls into her pockets is losing its intrigue.

The room, when she enters, is empty. There's no light. She taps the button on the lamp, and nothing happens. It had been working when she'd left, only a little while ago.

The next thing she does is give the room a once-over, a hard thing to do with her eyes still not adjusted to the dark. The beds are empty. The covers have been torn from the mattresses; one lies crumpled on the floor and the other is missing.

“Carver?” she calls. “Bethy? You here?”

Fear has her expect no response, but she is, thankfully, not alone. Her brother's voice is subdued when he calls to her. “In the bathroom.” She's at the door in a heartbeat. Even spending so much time folded up in the pilot's seat hasn't detracted from her natural speed.

In three days, she'd gotten used to a quiet pace. She hadn't been expecting the scene in front of her. Carver, two ragged looking scratches down his cheek, with his arms around a blanket-clad Bethany. Her sister is hunched over into herself, covered from top to toe, shaking and whimpering so quietly she almost can't hear. Marian sinks to the floor opposite them. “How long?”

“About twenty minutes,” Carver says. “Got up, decided the desk was offensive. I think the photo of mom and dad might be torn. The frame is definitely smashed.”

“Your face?”

Carver grimaces. “I'm going to start asking her to clip her nails. It _stings_. Does it look bad?”

She shrugs. “You were never pretty. Don't let it get to you, princess.”

“Ha, ha,” he says in a monotone. “I think it'll be over soon. Came on quicker than usual. Whirled around into the light and broke the bulb, but somehow didn't cut or burn herself, I checked her hands. Ran blind into the beds, threw the covers about, and then I caught her and wrapped her up, brought her in here so I could see a little better.”

Marian doesn't say anything, heart feeling like it's migrating to her feet. Bethany is going to be ill for the rest of her life, she's realising, something that she still has to come to terms with. She hasn't discussed it with Bethany, doesn't know how to bring it up. She's down her own research on the spawn, knows the prognosis isn't great. The parasites get inside a head, stay there until they change the way their hosts brain work. A living host's body is a great place to grow up big and strong, but a dead host is even better for laying eggs. Infected individuals become aggressive toward both others and themselves, with many cases ending in suicide.

They'd burned Malcom's body after they'd recovered it. They knew better than to leave it lying around.

Not once has she discussed it with Bethany because they both see the flames on quiet nights. In Athenril's stolen craft, Marian had done a lot of staring into the nothingness and thinking, her mind going off in all directions. Her sister knows as much as she does, read the same books, kept to herself a lot more once she found out there was no such thing as a cure. What can Marian say that Bethany hasn't already told herself?

Space, as it turns out, is not a good place to be alone with your thoughts.

“I'm going to get Anders,” Marian announces suddenly. If she stays here she'll only wring her hands and worry, and she can't do that anymore. Her sister deserves better than inaction. Carver doesn't say anything. “I'll be back soon. He'll... he might know what to do.”

She doesn't wait for a response, knowing that Carver wants to be alone with his thoughts. He can be annoyingly introspective when he wants to be, and only Bethany can read his mind. She closes the bathroom door as she leaves, not letting it click to, giving them what little privacy from the destruction she can.

* * *

No one stares at Marian as she walks through the mess. It's after lunchtime, but still early enough that those unwilling to get back to work outnumber their eager colleagues. She pays them no mind in turn. There are no faces that can help her here. All she can think about is _Anders, get Anders_ and her sister dearest, sweetest, most deserving of them all. Of all the people in the universe, Bethany Hawke was worth a better future than pain and suffering. Marian won't ever forget the first time she'd had an episode, the way she'd pulled her hair so hard clumps came out and how hard she'd screamed. She hadn't been able to speak for two days afterwards, and they'd had to pass the incident off as her sister's bedroom being invaded by insects.

Five other people join her on the elevator, and they go up before she can go down. Marian hits the button before anyone else can get on.

Medical is, as ever, quiet and pristine. She's come here every day since their arrival, checking in with the doctor and exchanging stories for what little work he's able to do for them. More and more time spent with him has her convinced that he's a good person with more ambition than even he's aware of. He doesn't speak about himself much, but it's painfully obvious that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life trapped at a desk. Not once has she seen him where he hasn't looked like he could use a good meal and a rest.

She doesn't bother knocking on his door, just waltzes right in like she owns his office. Today, however, he isn't alone. He's at his desk as usual, but looking even more beleaguered than usual with one hand at his temple and his eyes closed. His guests are standing at opposite ends of the room. Beside him, a slim, greying man. At her own side, a severe woman that looks like she's taking in breath for a second wind of yelling.

“Uh,” she says, with all her usual eloquence. “Sorry, I didn't...”

Anders jerks to life, like he had decided to just shut down and let his company bull right over him. “Marian. Can I help with something?”

Acutely aware that all three are looking at her and that she can't give anything away, she struggles to keep her expression under control. “Bethany's not feeling so great. I was... wondering if you had anything for her, or if you could come check up on her.”

She can tell he understands what's happened by the way his brows draw together ever so slightly. Before he can jump to his feet and to her aid, the woman she doesn't know lifts her chin. “Sick enough to steal a medic away from his work? Can it not wait?”

“Doesn't look like he was getting much done anyway,” Marian retorts, not caring that she knows she's caused offence. The woman is definitely not someone to be messed with. Her stiff posture advertises her as someone with authority, and besides that, she looks like she could bench press more than her fair share. Anders coughs delicately.

“Marian, this is Office Stannard.”

“Stannard,” Marian repeats, and then her jaw nearly drops. “You're _Meredith_.”

“I prefer _Officer_ from those I am unfamiliar with,” Meredith says tersely. “And you are? Marian...?”

“Hawke,” Marian says. “Call me Hawke. Aveline said we'd get to talk at some point.”

Meredith scrunches up her face as she tries to remember that not everyone subscribes to her formal, last-name basis. Something seems to occur to her. “Aveline Vallen? Yes, she may have intended for that to happen, but as much as I would like to be acquainted with every person aboard my ship, I am a very busy woman with a great many things to attend to.”

“Not so busy that you can't find time to come down here and find fault in everything,” the slim man says. He's scowling, his entire frame rigid with either irritation or anger, Marian can't tell. His interruption seems to be Meredith's cue to bristle and return to their argument.

“How many times must I explain to you that I do not look for fault? I'm interested in the protection of you and the rest of the crew, and if my methods seem harsh, it is because you have misinterpreted them!”

This is not something Marian is equipped to deal with. She stands dumbly where she is, eyes darting between them, the situation so bizarre that her reason for coming here in the first place has been wiped from her mind. Anders, at least, shares in her discomfort. He pulls on his white coat and stands.

“If you'll excuse me,” he says, and doesn't wait for the chance to be told to stay put. He guides Marian out with a gentle hand on her back, and closes the door behind them with a relieved sigh. “You don't know how glad I am to be out of there,” he says, and rubs at his temple. Marian grimaces, sympathetic as only someone who has sat between many an argument can be. “You mentioned Bethany. Is everything okay?”

The worry comes flooding back. “She's not doing well. I wasn't there, I didn't see the beginning, but she's as bad as she was when we were brought in. I – I don't know what to do,” she admits. “I don't think Carver knows, either.”

He doesn't need to hear any more. “Lead the way,” he says simply. Marian blinks.

“You sure? The married couple won't miss you?”

The doctor laughs and gets her moving with a gentle shove. “Don't let either of them hear you say that unless you want to be spaced. I'll deal with any trouble they give me later. This is more important. Besides,” and he lets himself grin, “I'm a big boy, and as much as they don't want me running around the ship, I am well within my rights to tell them to shove it if needs be.”

A trickster herself, Marian recognises that look. “Sounds like you've put that to practise more than once.”  
“ _Please_ , serah, I am a _gentleman_ ,” Anders says, offended. She snorts, amused. “I only excuse myself in times of great urgency.”

“No cheeky getaways? Not even once or twice?”

The elevator is still where she left it. The people she'd abandoned earlier must have decided to take a stairwell. “I think I'm starting to understand just how your mind works,” he says, and smiles. Marian's stomach does an unfamiliar cartwheel as the doors slide shut.

They ascend in silence. She's back to thinking about Bethany, that piteous figure under the duvet, and she's brought back to herself from a gentle nudge.  
“Are you okay?” the doctor asks.

“Is that really important right now? Bethany-”  
“-will be dealt with shortly,” he cuts her off, gently but firmly. “But I'm asking about _you_.”

“Not used to this,” she says, and waves a hand vaguely. “Space. Doesn't feel quite right.”

The doors slide open noiselessly as they reach their floor, and they walk side-by-side, the better to keep talking.

“Of course,” Anders muses. “You're a civilian.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing much. Aveline said something similar when she first joined. You ground kids are all the same, too attached to the dirt.”

“You weren't born in a colony?” she's curious, hasn't met anyone with a different origin before.

“Who knows,” he says. “I might have been, but I've spent a lot of time on a few different ships in my time. Amaranthine was the longest my feet were grounded, and I can't say that was amongst my favourite experiences.”

They separate for a worker coming back from a late lunch. “Can't say living up here appeals to me.”

“You get used to it. Not that you should have to if you don't want to, of course.”  
“Well,” Marian says, thinking of Lothering with a heavy heart. “Doesn't feel like I have a choice.”

The simple conversation easy, the ease with which he escaped two angry superiors, the willingness to help them right off the bat – more and more she's starting to think that this man is simply, genuinely _nice._ It's a rare trait to have discovered this far out in space, but she's thankful for it.

When they reach door 708 she has to take a deep breath. For as many times as she's had to deal with her sister in this state, it never gets any easier.

The door opens easily, and they slip inside before anyone comes wandering down the corridor. It's still dark, and she's squinting, trying to make sense of the fuzzy shapes barely illuminated by the light from the bathroom. “The light was smashed,” she explains quietly before he can ask. Then, a little louder, “Carver? Still here?”

“Still here,” he calls back.

It's a strange, sad scene that they disturb. Anders feels immediately like an outsider: the brother cradling the blanket-swaddled, sickly sister; their elder and self-imposed guardian's face shuttering at the sight. However well Marian has been able to deal with this in the past, it is definitely taking its toll on her now. Anders files that thought away for future reference and clears his throat, though not to get everyone's attention. Carver glares up at him anyway.

“May I?” Anders asks, and there's nothing for it but for the brother to shuffle out of the way. He stays close enough to be almost completely in the way.

The blanket-clad figure that is Bethany isn't shaking, which means that she's already weathered the worst of it. The tremors are the first giveaway that something isn't quite right, but they fade away once the episode draws to a close. It's something of a tiny comfort to him, knowing that once his body stops shuddering he'll come back to himself soon.

“How long has it been since she stopped shaking?” he asks, because they expect it of him.

“Not sure,” Carver says. “A few minutes, maybe longer.” he's knuckling the scratch on his face as he talks. Something else for Anders to look at when he's finished here.

“Bethany,” he says, voice as low and gentle as it would be dealing with a tired child. “I'm going to take the blanket off your head now. There's a light on, so I want you to close your eyes. It might be too bright for you. Okay?” he waits a moment, to give her time to process the words, and then reaches out to her slowly. “I'm going to take it off now,” he says, and pushes the heavy fabric down and away from the part of her he assumes is her head.

The blanket slides away easily. Bethany's eyes are closed tightly, and her face is so white she might never have had any blood in her cheeks at all. Her lips are pressed firmly together. She looks awful. “There we go,” he says instead of outlining the obvious. “Marian, do you have any cups in your room?”  
“What? No.”  
“Do me a favour and grab some water from the mess? No ice, if they try to give it to you.”

“... Sure,” she says, and then she's gone. Anders turns his attention back to her sister.

“Can you hear me okay, Bethany? Am I talking too loud?”

She does stir at that, just. Her eyelids flicker like she's dreaming, and her lips purse just a little tighter. He takes that to mean a loud and vibrant _yes_ , and softens his voice appropriately. “How about now? Is this okay?” No reaction, which can only be a good thing. She must be exhausted if she's drawn herself in this tightly. “I need something to know you can hear me,” he says. “Can you frown?”

She does so, quick enough that the expression is almost humourous. “Good. Wrinkle your nose?” it's a little harder to note that movement, because she's so unwilling to open her mouth even a little, but she manages it. “Okay. I'm going to ask you some questions, just to find out how you're feeling. Wrinkle your nose for yes and frown for no. Do you understand?”

Once again, that minute twitch. “Alright. First question: Are you in pain?” Another twitch, but weaker this time. As if she knows he might not be able to see the movement, she flares her nostrils instead, several times in case he missed the movement the first time. “Is the pain very bad?” she frowns. “That's good. Is the pain in your arms? Your legs?”

He sits cross legged on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, asking gentle questions until she comes back to herself. Marian returns with a cup of water that she drinks greedily when it's brought to her lips. Asides from the exhaustion and shock an episode brings, she's otherwise uninjured, the head pain being just a headache and not from her earlier exertions. A prescription for bed is given, and Carver helps to extract her from the blanket. She seems so small and frail when she's standing, eyes barely open and her weight almost entirely against her brother that it seems a miracle she's still with them.

“Let me,” Marian says softly, and takes the weight of her sister from Carver. Bethany lets herself – as if she had much of a choice – be picked up and carried to the bed, where the mattresses have been checked for tears and the other duvet has been returned to its home. Before Carver can follow, Anders stops him.

“Your face,” he says. “Good scratches you have there. They hurt?”  
“Bethany bites her nails,” Carver explains. “I guess she didn't recognise me when she was – in the middle of it. She's given me worse.”

“Wash it before you go to bed. They're shallow enough that they shouldn't be a problem for you,” he says, leaning closer to peer at the wound. Carver leans backwards as he does. “Come to medical if they don't heal up soon and I'll check you over again.”

He doesn't expect thanks and gets none: Carver grunts and leaves him to stand in the small bathroom by himself. He's picking the blanket up from the floor and folding it when Marian reappears behind him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Anders says, not looking at her. “It's my job.”

“No,” she corrects him. “It's not your job to deal with the spawn, but you do it anyway.”

_Wish I didn't have to_ , he thinks, not unkindly. He  _doesn't_ have to, and he knows it, but he  _does_ do it. People have told him that he has a big heart; he wishes he could believe them. Despite asking for nothing he still feels selfish keeping the secrets of those infected people. “It wouldn't be fair to turn you away. Not when she's got as much of a chance as the rest of us do. She doesn't deserve to be just left to suffer.”

Marian's silent at that, and he passes the now-folded blanket to her. She takes it, folds it over one arm and holds it against her with the other. “Is she asleep?” Anders asks.

“Not yet, but she will be. Carver's curled up next to her. They're twins. They're comfortable like that.”

“And you? How have you been sleeping?”

She's not looking at him. “Not very well,” she admits. “By-product of drifting around in space for weeks, I think. I wake up during the night a lot.”

He's going to have to ask Aveline a little more closely about the Hawkes. Whether he likes it or not, he feels like he's in it for the long run with them – even if it weren't for Marian's magnetic personality he would still feel responsible for Bethany. Two more patients aren't going to kill him. Besides that, he's seen this kind of thing before. Civilians don't take the adjustment to living off-world very well. They're too used to the routine of a sun to sleep soundly through a night in space.

“I'm not going to be able to get away easily once I'm back downstairs,” he says, “But if you come by tomorrow, lord and lady petulance should have found somewhere else to yell at each other. I can give you something to help you sleep a little better, if you want it.”

She looks like she might refuse right off the bat, but she takes a moment to consider the idea of a night of uninterrupted sleep. It obviously appeals to her; she nods once, a hesitant, jerky motion that speaks volumes.

“That doesn't sound too bad,” she says. “I'll come by.”

“I look forward to it,” Anders says, and finds that he isn't exaggerating at all. “Did you need me for anything else while I'm here?”

“Nothing, unless you want to bat those pretty eyes some more.”

He does laugh then, but only to cover up the sudden rush of uncomfortable confusion he feels. It seems to be the right thing to do; Marian's eyes soften and she smiles. “My pretty eyes and I have work to be doing,” he says. “I'll see you tomorrow.”  
“Sure,” she says, and guides him to the door. Bethany and Carver are one indistinct lump in the darkness.

“Will you be able to deal with all this by yourself?” he asks, pausing in the door frame. She shrugs, like it's nothing.

“A couple broken bits of furniture? Not a problem. When she starts dribbling acid and melts through the hull, _then_ I'll start worrying whether or not I can cope.” he's laughing again at that. The woman is ridiculous, but she has a certain way about her that puts him at ease. Between Meredith, Orsino and his work, there aren't a lot of opportunities for Anders to relax.

When he's back in his office, he wonders if he can really afford to be distracted by the  _Kirkwall's_ newest members, and goes to bed without an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders isn't in his office when she goes to see him next.

He's left the door unlocked, so she lets herself in to wait for him. It's only a couple of hours after lunch, but she already gets the feeling that he isn't the kind of person that operates on a normal schedule, so she's perfectly content to hang around for a while til he comes back. She is, after all, here for a medical reason, so she can't be faulted for sticking around until he appears.

It doesn't take long before she's bored and rifling through the papers on his desk. There's a lot of them, all thick and wordy, definitely not the kind of thing she could ever bring herself to read for fun. She tries, though, for want of nothing else to do. Barely twenty words in her mind wanders and she's spinning in his chair, wishing he'd hurry up. When she stops spinning the first thing her eyes focus on are the cats pinned to his noticeboard. Marian's always preferred dogs, but she supposes they're cute.

She really has no idea what to make of him. On the surface he's pretty easy to deal with: likes cute animals, likes helping people. Underneath it all there's definitely more to explore. He's let on about a military past, mentioned he's been shuffled from ship to ship, let Meredith and the skinny man she'd been arguing with fight while he'd been – presumably – trying to work. She wonders where he took the photos, why they're the only personal things in here, how long he's been on the _Kirkwall_.

No answers are forthcoming, and neither is any company. She's all but memorised the different features of the cats before she decides to give up and call it a day. As much as she wants a good night's sleep – and to thank him properly for helping Bethany out – she can wait a bit longer for that relief. It won't kill her.

 _Well_ , she thinks. _What now_?

There's not much point in staying in Medical. She doesn't know anyone else and doesn't want to go exploring when there could be people doing important work. Besides that, the deck seems so large that it might be a while before she bumps into anyone. She doesn't want to go back to the room they've taken residence in: Carver has decided to keep indoors and Bethany has glued herself to his side. She'd gotten good at given them space aboard a tiny craft, knows how important it was for them, knows how important their privacy still is. She is, however, bored of the mess, and doesn't know where Aveline works.

Time to find out.

She gives Anders a few seconds grace before she decides that no, he really isn't going to be coming back, and marches back to the elevator. She sees no one, hears no one – for the first time, she finds herself wondering what the quarantined section of the ship is like. Anders had mentioned it was on this deck, but she doesn't think she'll be welcomed if she goes looking for it. A bunch of people staying silent in case of discovery sounds miserable.

She's still thinking about the mystery crew when she punches buttons in the elevator without looking. She's done her fair share of hiding and doesn't want to go back into it – doesn't want Bethany to just disappear and live in isolation again. Only the thrum of the elevator as it starts to move brings her back to her senses. It doesn't seem likely that she'll ever get used to the feeling of her stomach down by her knees.

The doors ding open on the ninth level. It's as eerily empty as the one she's just left, nothing at all like the busy floors of deck three. Annoyingly, it doesn't look like it's laid out in a way that is at all similar to decks three _or_ four. “Uniformity is for losers,” Marian mutters to herself, and steps out, letting the doors hiss closed behind her. She doesn't _want_ to have to learn the plan of the ship if it's just going to be floor after floor of different layouts, but she knows she will anyway. It's for both peace of mind and curiosity. She knew all the ways in and out of the main complex back on Lothering, including one or two that weren't included in the blueprints – something she'd double-checked with Athenril.

The map of a ship is different to the map of a colony, though. Nothing is labelled. Likely those that legally live aboard know what every floor has to offer them, which doesn't help Marian in the slightest. Whatever this floor is, it's dirtier than Medical. Dimmer, too.

She starts to wander, nosing around for anything that could help her get her bearings. All she knows is the number this deck is designated, which is just as unhelpful as the lack of signage. Vainly, she's hoping to bump into someone, but it's becoming a fainter hope with every step. The lack of decent lighting and regular cleaning makes Medical seem positively _tropical_. It's not getting any better the further she gets. There's no doors for her to poke her head into, and the hall shows no signs of widening or narrowing. Just to check she isn't going crazy, she looks over her shoulder. Still alone.

“I'm going crazy,” she says to herself, just as she notices the way the corridor branches. To the left, the hell stretches out further, just as unadorned as the way she's come, but it doesn't go too far. It ends in a heavy-looking door painted a universal yellow-and-black to signifies danger. The right isn't a hallway so much as a cul-de-sac, decorated with hangers and shelving bearing all the gear to go walking. The suits are just as dirty as she remembers Bethany's old uniform being, the helmets innocent on their rests. _No chance of claustrophobia if you put us on!_

“Can I help you?”

She hadn't seen the door hidden in the vestry at first, but now it's swung open to reveal that this deck isn't quite as empty as it seems. Marian jerks away from the walking suits reflexively. Bethany had always been protective of her suit, and she can think of no way to get kicked off the ship than to have someone assume she was tampering with their walking suit.

“Just looking,” she says, and then adds hastily, “Around, I mean. I'm new. Didn't know what was on this level, thought I'd go for a wander. Sorry.”

She's expecting to be told off. With all the talk she's heard about security and engineers, it's very likely that civilians are prohibited from multiple decks. It's a surprise, then, when the girl that's facing her beams brightly.

“Oh, I go wandering all the time! Drives the rest of my lot insane. The walkers, I mean. They like it when I don't go walking.” The babble's punctuated with a bright laugh that fills Marian up like hot chocolate. “That sounded silly,” she adds, but Marian shakes her head.

“Not at all. Marian Hawke,” she holds out a hand, already liking the company.

“Merrill,” the girl says. She takes the hand in her own warm grip – surprisingly strong for such a thin looking thing. “Did you say _hawk_? Like the bird? The bird from Earth, anyway.”

“That's the one,” Marian says, grinning wolfishly. “Except I flew a long way from home.”

“We're all far from home,” Merrill says, suddenly seeming that much wiser. “But that's not what I meant – I know you! At least, I think I know you.”  
“You do?”

Marian's never seen this girl in her life before. Not only is the way she talks pretty distinct, but she's got these large green eyes framed by delicate looking lines. They're thin and just shy of being lurid, like someone's doodled on her with highlighters, but the pattern's intricate enough that they're obviously there on purpose. The effect is just a little disconcerting.

“Anders told me about you!” Merrill chirps, oblivious to the way she's being stared at. “And your brother, and sister. It must have been exciting, travelling all that way just to bump into us.”

“Exciting isn't the word I'd use,” Marian says, making a mental note to have a Talk – capital T and all – with Anders when she sees him next. “What else has the good doctor said?”

“Nothing to be afraid of! I see what he means, though. You stand out. In a good way!” she adds before Marian can be offended. She's not. The birthmark splashed across her face has marked her for – well, not greatness, considering her criminal exploits, but for _something_ , at least. “And you're definitely pretty. But,” and here she leans in, a conspiratorial smile fixing itself to her features, “Most importantly, he told me that Bethany and I are exactly the same.”

She winks, and Marian's heart sinks like she's back in the elevator. Not only is she going to have to Talk to Anders, but she's going to have to threaten him as well. Maybe take the cat pictures hostage, if things get really dire.

Something dubious must have shown on her face, because Merrill's mouth becomes a perfect, worried little _o_. She claps her hands to it, aghast.

“Oh no,” she says. “That came out wrong. I didn't mean to scare you. I just mean – well! We're both walkers. That is right, isn't it? Your sister does walk?”

“... Used to,” Marian admits, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I remembered! I get sick sometimes, too,” her company adds. It's as casual as if she were discussing lunch plans, but it makes Marian's heart fall back down and take her stomach with it so they can set up residence around her knees. “So because I know how it is, he told me I can help her, if she'd like. If _you_ 'd like,” she looks much more serious now. “I know being sick is one of those things you might not want anyone else dealing with. I won't tell, of course!”

This conversation is swinging from branch to branch far too quickly for Marian to keep up with. “You can _help_?” she asks.

“Well,” Merrill spreads her hands modestly, “I know what it's like when it happens, so I can help calm her down. That's all Anders does. That's all anyone can do, but there's a knack to it!” She's beaming suddenly, and then back to serious. Marian can only blink. “I had to see him earlier to help out. Anders trusts me, for what it's worth.”

“Help him?”  
“I had to. He's not feeling good today, so he's taking the day off. Sometimes I go down to check on him, to make sure he's alright. Orsino's keeping an eye on him now.” she pauses. “Have you met Orsino?”

She'd forgotten that Anders suffers as well. He'd seemed so sure of himself when he'd been helping out, not at all worried that it might come on him as quickly as – well, as anything.

“I... don't know?” she says, struggling to keep up. “I met Meredith. She was arguing with a small man.”  
“That's Orsino,” Merrill says confidently. “He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you can rely on, but he's alright. He keeps the, ah, _really ill_ people safe and happy. He's had the longest to get used to it, to research it. Anders will be fine.”

It's as good as an assurance as Marian's going to get, and she supposes she'll have to just accept it. Merrill's still talking, which is somewhat of a relief. She's not sure what she might be expected to say otherwise, and her mind is going a hundred miles an hour.

“He always pulls through,” Merrill's saying, “But this isn't a very good place to be talking about it!”

“Ears on the walls?”  
“No, it's just boring here. I don't like just hanging out here when there are other places I could be. Plus, I don't know how to work our coffee machine. Want to go to the cafeteria? I mean, unless you have other things you need to do...”

For a moment she looks like a kicked puppy, and all thoughts of finding out where Aveline works goes straight out of Marian's head.

“I can hang,” she says instead of something sensible like making an excuse. “Mind if we swing by my room first? I got something I want to pick up.”

 

* * *

 

 _Something_ ends up being the twins, who are more than happy to make friends and fill themselves up with synthetic caffeine. All four of them end up crammed around a tiny table just after the lunch rush. There's enough people still lingering that they can't get one of the larger spaces to themselves, but at least all four of them get a seat. More importantly, they all get food. The Hawkes have spent long enough drifting that none of them will be overlooking even the smallest snack any time soon.

“I should introduce you to Varric!” Merrill says around her second coffee while the rest of them eat.

“Who's that?” Carver asks, or more accurately, “ _Huuz't?_ ” because he has no manners and always gets flustered around pretty girls. Luckily for him, Merrill doesn't seem to mind his bad manners.

“No one really knows. _I_ call him the historian, but _he_ says he doesn't do history. He's not with Science or Research, though, so I don't know what else he could be. He does a lot of writing, though!” she brightens, takes a sip of coffee. “About the places we've been to, what we've found. It'll be history some day.”

Carver's nodding along sagely, cheeks bulging, but Bethany doesn't look so convinced. “I've never heard of anyone documenting for... well, for what? Personal reasons? If he's not a researcher, just what is he doing?”  
“Beats me. He's been with the _Kirkwall_ longer than I have,” Merrill explains. It doesn't seem to assure Bethany any. “He likes learning, I think that's all there is to it. He talks to me quite a lot – it's because I'm a walker. Sometimes we find things, and he puts it all into words.”  
“A living log book,” Marian muses, and finds herself on the receiving end of a particularly forceful point.

“ _Exactly_.”

“What kinds of things do you find that doesn't go in an official log?” Bethany asks, looking more alive than she's done in weeks. Walking had been her sole passion on Lothering, even if it had been something she'd been forced into. Helping whatever junk had come into their port wasn't quite as classy as walking aboard a proper spaceship, or as fun.

As Merrill chatters on about the detritus she's found stuck to the outer hull and not been allowed to bring back, Marian scans the mess hall. She's not sure what's made her feel so suddenly aware, but the more she looks the more she realises that they're being given a wide berth. The tables closest to theirs have been shifted away, and more than a few suspicious eyes are turned their way. It's making her very uncomfortable. Sure, she's never been good at keeping a low profile, but she's never been actively stared at like this before. She feels like a target.

She only tunes back in when she hears her name. “What?”

“I asked a question,” says Bethany.

“Oh. Come again?”  
“I asked if you were feeling okay. You look a million miles away.”

“Not with us at all,” Carver agrees.

“I zone out sometimes too,” Merrill adds.

“I'm fine,” Marian says, but she still feels uncomfortable. “Actually, I- yeah, I'm fine, but I'm wondering if we're doing anything wrong. We're getting a lot of weird looks, Merrill. Are we not supposed to be talking to you?”

It looks for a moment like the girl might cry, but then she's twisting her mouth and looking thoughtful instead. “No, I'm pretty sure this is allowed! Unless Office Stannard has decided walkers need to be confined, but I'm sure I'd have heard about that.” she presses her lips together tightly, but only for a moment before a nervous giggle parts them.

Carver's been craning his head around as she talks. He's frowning when he turns back. “Marian's right. No one's near us. What gives?”

Merrill sighs and drops her head into one hand. She follows the rim of her mug with a spare finger. “People don't like me. Us. Walkers,” she clarifies. “They think we're weird. The risks make them wary.”

“But you going outside doesn't affect them-?” Carver starts, puzzled, but Bethany silences him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“She's talking about the spawn. They could bring it back.”

“Oh, have people told you already?” Merrill asks, looking genuinely interested instead of put out.

“Not here, but we had similar worries back home. A colony,” she explains when their company looks politely blank. “We didn't get a lot of ships that we could work on, but everyone was cautious when they came through. For good reason,” she adds, and Marian clears her throat. Bethany looks down at her hands and takes a deep breath.

“How do they know?” Carver asks. One of his hands slips atop Bethany's. “I mean, you're not in uniform, and it's a big ship.”  
“There's not that many of us, so if people know us, then they know us. I stick out,” Merrill says, smiling, and taps the lines around her eyes. “Mostly we just keep put. It's easier than being ignored all the time. Well, not all the time. We get on with Engineering, because we have to. We go out, find problems on the hull, and report back. They make the pieces to fix it, we put them on, job done. Medical keeps an eye on us, of course. Varric likes us, too. Says we have the best stories.”

“And we're back to Varric,” Marian says. “I still don't feel like I know who he is. Who the hell is let on a cruiser like this without a proper job?”  
“Us,” Bethany and Carver say together. They don't miss a beat, those two. Marian waves their answer away, and Merrill jumps in to try and provide an answer.

“Well, the way I think it works is, you have Meredith in charge,” and she jabs one dainty finger onto the table for punctuation, “But you have Varric in _charge_.”

“If they're anything alike...”  
“Oh, no, no!” Merrill backtracks quickly. “Not at all. Meredith is _scary_ , but Varric's a big teddybear. No, I mean – he talks to everyone, works with them and tries to keep everything running smoothly. I think he feels responsible for us, but I don't know why. He's good with numbers,” she adds. “If people want a transfer of station, if they want to get off at the next station – anything like that? Varric's behind helping it all get done quickly.”

“So a jack of all trades?” Bethany asks.

“Nah,” Marian says. “Sounds more like a gangster.” When her sister rolls her eyes, she steals an untouched bread roll from her plate. “No, really. Works off the record, gets things done when the officials can't, I'm assuming he does favours for his friends...” a nod from Merrill. “Sounds pretty shady.”  
“He'd probably love to hear that!” Merrill says. She looks too sincere to be joking. “Why don't you come and talk to him? He won't bite.”  
“Really?”  
“Well, not too hard.”

Something in Marian's expression makes Merrill laugh so hard that tears spring to her eyes. “I'm kidding!” she says, wiping them away. “Really, though – why not? It can't hurt to make new friends, and he'll be able to help you out if you need it. Between him and Aveline, you'll probably end up knowing the whole crew before too long.”

 _Why not_ , Marian thinks.

 

* * *

 

Varric's quarters are grand enough to merit being called _quarters_. They're two sleeping areas repurposed for all his stuff, which turns out to be mostly books and papers. They line the walls and litter the floor and desk. It feels homely, even if there's not a lot in the way of personal possessions. There's a double bed in one corner, chairs stacked atop each other in another, and a dresser is hidden under haphazardly thrown shirts.

The room is, of course, empty of life, but that doesn't stop Merrill from barging her way in. “Varric, you in here?”

“Wait a sec-” someone – Varric, presumably – calls. He sounds muffled, and there's a thump from one of the far corners, where the books are stacked high. “ _Shit_ ,” he adds with feeling. Merrill shoots Marian an understanding look.

“He used to have more, but there wasn't enough space,” she explains. “Books are his one true love.”  
“Now you hold on a moment.”

A blond head pops up bearing a moderately offended expression. “Daisy, you spreading lies about me? You forgotten Bianca already?”

“Oops,” Merrill giggles. “Sorry.”

Varric extracts himself carefully from whatever mess he'd been dealing with before he picks his way over. “I am hurt _and_ offended,” he announces, “And so is she.”

“Who?” Carver asks, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. Varric forgoes an answer in lieu of patting the front of his shirt and extracting a pen. Before Carver can make any stupid comments, he uncaps it, revealing a delicate gold nib.

“Bianca,” he says. “My pride and joy, the light of my life.”

“It's a pen,” Carver says.

“It's a _fountain pen_ ,” Bethany corrects him. Her eyes are wide. “I've never seen one before. It must have cost a lot – does it work?”  
“She works,” Varric says. He caps it before sliding it back into his pocket. “She made her way to me via a friend a long time ago. You're not wrong, though. Ink – proper ink – is expensive. Doesn't stop me splashing out when she runs out.”

He winks, and then offers a broad hand to Bethany, who takes it. “A pleasure to meet you. Varric Tethras, at your service.”  
“Bethany,” Bethany says. “This is my brother, Carver, and my sister.”

Carver is not invited to shake, even though he puts his hand out, and Marian is treated to a once-over before she's allowed. It's a strong hand. She can feel callouses – unexpected from someone with so many books – and is pleased to note that his grip is firm.

“You're short, for a gangster,” she says, and Merrill starts laughing. It's true: Marian's taller than most, but Varric is shorter than even her tiny mother was. He carries it well, though. He's broad in the shoulder in a way that gives him good presence. A wry smile makes its way to Varric's face.

“Daisy,” he says as they let go of each other, “I thought I told you not to give away all my secrets?” He winks again before his attention turns back to Marian. “Didn't catch your name.”

“Didn't throw it. Marian. Hawke. Call me Hawke.”

“So, siblings, huh?”  
“Younger sister and the biggest pain in my ass.”  
“Hey,” Carver says. Marian ignores him.

“So,” Varric says, settling back on a pile of books that creak under his weight. “What brings you down here? I'd have cleaned up if I knew company was coming.”

“No you wouldn't,” Merrill says from his bed. She's made herself comfortable and kicked her shoes off.

“Nah,” he agrees. “No offense, but I've seen the way your suit gets.”

Merrill doesn't seem like she could be offended. “I thought I'd introduce you! They're new, but they already know Anders and Aveline, so I figured...”

“Giving them the grand tour? Actually, wait a minute, how'd you come to meet them? We haven't docked for a while, and I know you'd have let me know if another walker joined the team.”

“Complete accident!” she chirps. There's no better way to describe the way she talks. She's the single happiest person Marian's ever met. “Big Hawke was exploring since Anders isn't around today and – why weren't you with Aveline?” she asks, suddenly curious. Marian shrugs.

“Don't know where she is.”

“And because Aveline's probably working,” Merrill goes back to her explanation without missing a beat, “So I thought I'd keep her company! And now she knows you, so she won't have to be alone again while she's here. That's okay, right?”

“Daisy, you know I love company. _Especially_ company that thinks I'm in the business.” He's grinning from ear to ear, and Marian immediately decides that she likes him. “Nice to meet you, Hawke. Consider yourself always welcome in my place. _Mi casa, su casa_.”

“Uh, thanks,” Marian says. “You always talk like this?”

From the corner of her eye she sees Bethany looking horrified at her rudeness, but Varric bursts into laughter. “Oh, I like you,” he says. “Too many people put up with my shit. Definitely welcome anytime. Drink?” he asks, and pulls a bottle of something decidedly alcoholic from seemingly nowhere.

“Hit me,” says Marian, who hasn't had a drink in far too long and knows a good time when it's staring her in the face.

“Oooh, I'll have one as well,” Merrill says from the bed. Carver opens his mouth to ask for one, and Marian cuts across him before he can start talking.

“Nothing for the children.”

 

* * *

 

Despite her attempts to be a good older sister, Carver does finagle a glass of whatever it is Varric pulled out. It's like nothing they had back on Lothering, but it smells strong, tastes stronger and goes down just as easily as paint thinner. Bethany, ever the responsible one, refuses to partake and ends up riffling through books instead. Marian ends up joining Merrill on the bed when her legs stop working properly, and the rest of the afternoon, or evening, or whatever time it is, passes in a veritable haze of bad decisions. She thinks she sees Aveline's face at some point, looking stern and disapproving of her decisions as usual, but it's quickly put out of mind when Varric produces a pack of cards to join the booze.

“Ever play Wicked Grace?” he asks, and all Marian can do is signal for another drink to go with her hand. There's no more worry, no more boredom, nothing but this room and these people and their shared bad decisions.

“Raise,” says Hawke, and the rest of the night disappears.


End file.
